


exquisite corpse

by Anonymous



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dreams, Gore, M/M, Necrophilia, No Beta We Die Like December
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27101692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Were it not for the bluish-grey tinge to December’s skin, August might have mistaken him for being deep in the warm caress of sleep. His chest doesn’t rise or fall, and while his cracked, greying lips are parted, they clearly aren’t doing so to breathe.He’s lying on August’s bed at their hideout, curled up in a foetal position. He’s probably been there for some time."
Relationships: August/Mikage Hisoka
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous





	exquisite corpse

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here despite the warnings: why
> 
> Uhh August is a freak. We love him for it. I had brainworms I needed to get out so here, enjoy

August can tell from the slight haziness of his vision that he’s probably dreaming. The edges of his line of sight blur into pitch-black nothingness—but then, that could be because he truly _could not care less_ about anything other than the scene before him.

Were it not for the bluish-grey tinge to December’s skin, August might have mistaken him for being deep in the warm caress of sleep. His chest doesn’t rise or fall, and while his cracked, greying lips are parted, they clearly aren’t doing so to breathe.

He’s lying on August’s bed at their hideout, curled up in a foetal position. He’s probably been there for some time.

August shifts his weight, heat pulsing through his body. He feels his cock twitch, swelling as he allows himself to relish the sight. Perhaps he should feel more conflicted about this, he thinks—but if December’s already here, and there’s a ninety percent chance that none of this is real, then why _shouldn’t_ he indulge himself? It wouldn't even be the worst thing he’s gotten himself off to.

After a (very) brief moment of indecision, August climbs onto the bed and settles a hand on December's shoulder, pulling him over so he’s lying on his back. His head flops to the side, arms hanging limply like an unstrung marionette, and August sighs in fond annoyance as he carefully rearranges him.

 _For what reason, though?_ It’s hardly as if December’s comfort matters anymore. (It hardly did even when he was alive, if the number of times he or April had found him fast asleep in a tree or on the floor was anything to go by.) Still, it feels rude to just leave him looking like a discarded ragdoll, thrown aside by a petulant child. 

Besides, it’s not as if August doesn’t love him. He adores him, in fact—which is exactly _why_ he’s gently peeling off December’s pants and rolling his shirt up, grazing his lips against cold flesh with every inch he exposes. 

It’s sweet, really. August’s lips and fingers leave indents wherever they press, what with there being no blood left pumping through December’s body to fill the dips. December’s cock is soft, too—he’s clearly far past the stage of rigor mortis, and August would consider it unfortunate if December’s cock didn’t look so cute hanging limp against his thigh.

With his pants off and cast aside, August takes December's legs and spreads them, leaving him awkwardly spread-eagle. Shucking off his own trousers, August gives his cock a few pumps, shuddering in anticipation. 

He’s compared December’s sleeping form to a corpse countless times before in jest, but he realises now that the reality is far more erotic than he could have ever imagined. 

His hand finds its way to December’s ass cheek, squeezing lightly to expose his puckered hole. With an unabashed smile, he thinks that this part doesn’t feel so different to the times when he’s fucked December in his sleep. He’s always been pliant to a fault in August’s hands. 

_But then!_ Dream logic, he supposes, endows him with a knife in his other hand, and he finds himself resisting one temptation in order to indulge in another. His cock hanging hard between his legs, he crawls on top of December, a shuddery exhale escaping him as he sizes him up once more.

He starts at the sternum.

The knife drags downwards, meeting some token resistance as it pulls through doughy flesh. When he reaches the pubic bone, he returns to the top of the wound, pulling the knife parallel to December’s collarbone in a rough ‘T’ shape.

The knife is gone again, and with trembling hands, August thumbs the edges of the folds across December’s torso. Then, he digs them inwards, hooking underneath the layer of decaying fat and skin. 

When he pulls them apart, August is distantly reminded of the doors of advent calendars he’d had as a child. There’s no chocolate behind the layers of December’s flesh, though. ( _Not even marshmallows,_ he thinks with a grin.) Be that as it may, the exposed viscera is still no less appealing—without a second thought, August leans inwards, dragging his tongue against putrid offal. He ruts his cock against thin air as he fully indulges in the taste, letting out a shameless moan as he drips pre onto the sheets.

He can’t resist any longer. Holding December’s legs wide apart, he nudges his cockhead against his asshole. He briefly considers cutting down further into December’s skin, hollowing him out so he can see his own cock fucking into him from the inside out—but, well, that would take time, and he really isn’t in the mood to wait more than he already has.

He pushes in, and the coldness of December’s body encases him, pulling a sharp moan from his throat. The coldness almost seems infectious, spreading up through his own body as he squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body wracked with a hard _shudder_.

When his eyes open again, the space around him is jarringly dark.

Aside from his own panting and his heartbeat thundering in his ears, the first thing he hears is soft breathing coming from the warm lump in the blankets beside him. 

With a heavy, shaky exhale, August pulls back the blankets just enough to expose December’s face. He looks angelic, August thinks, as he presses a gentle kiss to his crown. December shows no sign of acknowledging him, his breathing gentle and constant.

“Sorry about that,” August whispers against December’s hair. 

His smile betrays his dishonesty.

**Author's Note:**

> HOOO YEAH tbh do I regret it only being a dream? Perhaps! But I'm off my nut on painkillers and I am not in the mood to edit it any further. I hope you enjoyed this mess!


End file.
